Rhoelyn: Nysse tugs self-consciously at her dress as she steps into the Lower City inn. Her eyes rake over the tables in the dim light. Araatris: By the end of the first mug of mead, Nysse has watched many people enter and leave the inn, but no dashingly-handsome druid. Rhoelyn: Nysse narrows her eyes and …

Araatris: … and then she trips and falls and the ORB OF ULTIMATE POWER slips from her sweat-drenched hands. Who will pick it up?! Rhoelyn: A bird flies in and grabs it. A Druid of the Cenarion Circle, of course! Araatris: Rhese grins to himself, thinking of all the ladies he can impress with an …